


It Had to Be You

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Series: And Who the Hell is Gossip Girl, Anyway? [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Gossip Girl AU, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate draws up battle plans, Clint can’t keep his mouth shut, and maybe they’re not so different after all.  Also, America has been over this since day one.  Rich kids, you know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Had to Be You

 

_Spotted:_ **_K_ ** _and_ **_A_ ** _meeting at Starbucks for a pre first period pow wow.  could our queen be drawing up battle plans? we hear that she's made it her mission to send the new coach out on his ass.  Poor Coach Handsome.  Looks aren't everything, after all._

 

“Oh hell,” Kate said, glancing at her phone, “they’re on to us.”  She’d begun to rate the photos of herself that wound up on Gossip Girl, and good news-her hair actually looked pretty decent in this one.  Not that it still wasn’t entirely creepy that someone had taken a photo of her and America without them knowing, but if she was going to have to deal with this bullshit she might make sure they were good photos.

“Well,” America sighed, “I’ve already sat down,”  She crossed one leg over the other, as if to further her point, “so leaving is pretty much out of the question.”  Kate sighed.

“It’s not like it would matter,” Kate replied, “since she’d just find us if we went somewhere else.”  America took a sip of her coffee.

“Her and her minions,” America added, spitting out the word ‘minions’ like it was some kind of swear.  America glanced over her shoulder, glaring at a group of freshman girls clustered nearby.  One of them actually let out a fearful sounding “eep!”  America turned back to Kate, smirking.

“You enjoyed that way too much,” Kate noted, licking a bit of whipped cream off of the top of her frappucino.  America shrugged.

“Careful Kate,” America noted, as Kate wiped the stray whipped cream off her lower lip, “the more compromising the photo, the sooner it’s gonna get online.”  Kate rolled her eyes.

“Fucking Gossip Girl,” Kate muttered.  “Where does she even get off?”  She glanced again at the update at her phone.  America leaned over.

“Coach Handsome?” America snickered, “seriously?”  Kate felt her cheeks get a little warmer, and let out an indignant sort of noise.

“Gossip Girl is seriously deranged,” Kate replied.  “Clint is gross.”  America tilted her head.

“I’ve seen him around school,” America said.  “He’s not that gross.”  Kate huffed.

“You don’t have to train with him.  He’s a total ass.  I’m probably going to lose state this year.”  She frowned.  “Fucking Clint.”  America rolled her eyes.

“You don’t think you’re being a little dramatic?” America asked, prompted Kate to shoot her friend a glare.

“First of all, no, I don’t, and second, as my best friend, you’re not allowed to not take my side in this,” Kate replied.  America’s deadpan was the only response Kate really needed.

“When I started training for boxing, I didn’t get along with my coach, either,” America said, despite Kate still glaring at her.  “Coach Rogers is...well, he’s certainly not what I expected.  But he’s one of the best boxers I’ve ever met.”

“Isn’t he like, eighty?” Kate asked, slumping forward onto her arms.

“Ninety-four,” America replied, “he’s been in like, three wars.”

“Exactly!” Kate exclaimed.  “Coach Rodgers is actually a respectable person.  Clint is just...an asshole.”  America rolled her eyes.

“Do you even care about winning anymore?” America asked, “Or are you too busy obsessing over petty bullshit?”  Kate seemed taken aback by the question.

“Well of course I want to do my best, but-” she begins,

“No buts, chica,” America interrupted, “you either do your best and win, or you let Clint Barton ruin your year.  Up to you.”  Kate slouched in her seat, gazing up at the ceiling.

“I hate when you’re right,” Kate whined.

“That’s funny,” America said, “because I always am.”

 

\--

 

Spotted: 

 

_B and Big T grabbing frozen hot chocolates at Serendipity._

 

_N hitting the lacrosse field.  We hope he leads the team to victory this year-but then again, lacrosse is so last season._

 

_K rocking her Lulumon yoga pants like there’s not tomorrow.  Trying a new approach, K? We don’t know a straight man alive who’d be able to say no to you._

 

\--

 

Well.  There was now a picture of Kate’s butt on the internet.  Which, incidentally, was not something she’d ever wanted to happen, but there it was, for all of the Upper East Side to see.  Also, someone had snapped a pic of her butt.  Who even did shit like that?  And that was obviously what the sophomores were giggling about when Kate walked into the range-fucking sophomores who thought since they weren’t freshman anymore, they could get away with mutiny.  Not even.

“Where’s Clint?” Kate barked, tossing her bag haphazardly to the floor.  The sophomores glanced up from their phones.  “Clint,” Kate said, slowly, “you know, our coach.  Practice started ten minutes ago.”  No one had the poor sense to point out that Kate had arrived late to practice, nor did they bother to ask.  In truth, Kate had spent seven of the last ten minutes in the girl’s bathroom on the top floor, arguing with herself.  Then, she’d spent the next three minutes rushing to practice, pausing, thinking about if she was actually going to practice today, and then rushing again.

“And you know what else?” Kate asked, “why isn’t anyone stretching?  Do you want to lose to Xavier’s this year?  Because if you do, just say so.  I’ll call them.  I’ll call them and say, ‘hey don’t bother showing up to the competition, because we’re just a bunch of losers.’”  Everyone had taken to staring at her like she’d lost her mind-which wasn’t fair.  She wasn’t crazy, just stressed.  She crossed her arm.

“Come on, people.  The track.  We’re running laps until Clint gets here.”  There was a collective groan as the team rose from their spots on the floor.  Kate made sure to glare at each member for a solid second, just to make sure they knew she meant business.

“One last thing,” Kate called, as the team began to jog out the doors, “if I see a cellphone, I’m putting an arrow through it.”

 

Clint was waiting for her as she started her third lap.  She noted the Ray-Bans he was sporting and smirked to herself; he obviously thought he looked cool in them, and of course he looked like an idiot.

“Something funny, Katie-Kate?” Clint asked.  She cocked her head.

“Told you not to call me that, Clint,” she replied.  She stopped running, her chest heaving slightly as she drew in several quick breaths.  She leaned forward on her knees for a moment before standing, wincing against the afternoon sun.  Maybe sunglasses weren’t such a bad idea.  He was grinning at her, he always was and Kate had to admit that while he had a nice smile, like a really nice smile-

“So why are you making the _archery_ team run laps?” Clint asked, breaking Kate out of her haze and back into the real world, where Clint Barton was still an asshole, nice smile or not.

“We needed to do something while we were waiting,” Kate retorted, “since you were late, again.”  Clint’s smile fell at her tone, and she almost felt guilty about it but-no.  He was an ass, and he was late for practice.  

“You know,” Clint said, “you could stop undermining my authority as coach every once in a while.”  Kate glowered at him.

“What authority?” she retorted.  Something like frustration flitted across Clint’s face. Kate expected him to come up with another comeback, not grin down at her with more fondness than she was comfortable with.

“You remind me of someone,” he noted, “though she’d kill me for comparing her to a teenager.”  Kate wrinkled her nose.

“Please tell me you’re not comparing me to your wife,” she said, seemingly disgusted with the entire idea of it.  Clint chuckled to himself.

“Do you even have a wife?” Kate continued.

“Hey now,” Clint replied, “let’s not get personal so quickly.”  Kate smiled at him, far too knowing for this entire encounter.   And that seemed to be the end of it, because as Clint sputtered for a response Kate yelled, 

“Everyone back to the range!”

“Aren’t coaches and captains supposed to work together?” Clint asked, “You know, talk about team stuff, make plans for competitions?”

“That kind of went out the window when you said you weren’t a fan of this ‘student-teacher shit,’” Kate noted, and for some insane reason, she reached out and grasped his shoulder, “also, ‘plan for competitions?’ What does that even mean?  Are we doing a dance or something?”  Clint didn’t move her hand, and now it seemed far too late to pull it off his shoulder, and was she even allowed to touch him?  Like, legally speaking?

“At least let me help you train for competitions, then,” Clint offered.

“Don’t need your help,” Kate replied.  She heard giggles behind her, and was quick to pull her hand back.  She’d almost forgotten she’d put it there.

“You’re on edge today.  Something happen?” Clint asked.  He’d taken off his sunglasses.  It was weirdly personal.  Unnerving, like he was a human or something.

“I’m fine,” she bit back, “I just want to get to work.”

 

The arrow cleared the cellphone of some sophomore girl, pinning the now useless device to the target.  Clint let out a low whistle.

“So, that’s a thing,” Clint said.  Kate turned back to her archery team, a smug grin pinned to her face.

“They thought I was joking,” Kate told him, “I promised earlier that if I saw a cellphone, I’d shoot an arrow through it.”

“And you’re nothing if not thorough,” Clint replied.  Kate decided to take it as a compliment.  The owner of the cellphone was starting forlornly at the target, and Kate felt that smirking would be appropriate.

“She’ll buy a new one,” Kate said, “won’t you, Madison?”

“Rich kids,” Clint muttered, under his breath.  Which he shouldn’t have done, not when Kate was feeling this cocky.

“Aw, poor you,” Kate quipped.  Any camaraderie expressed on the track was long gone, replaced in her heart by ever familiar resentment.  “Haven’t you noticed that you’re _employed_ by rich kids?”  She gestured towards him casually, bow in hand.  Her shoulders swayed in mockery.  “Does that bother you, Clint?”  His smirk matched hers in strength.

“Aw, girlie,” he said, “it takes a lot more than a rich bitch to ruffle my feathers.”  Her smile fell, but only for an instant.

“Language like that could get you fired, Clint,” Kate reminded him, pointing her bow at his heart.  “Or did you forget who’s dad got you this job?”  Clint took a step forward.  His fingers brushed against the metal of her bow.  He matched Kate’s gaze as he pulled the bow from her, plucking at the string at nodding in satisfaction.

“This is a nice bow, rich girl,” Clint said.  “How much did it cost?”

“‘Bout a thousand,” Kate said, “you know, pocket change.”  The archery team had fallen silent.  She chose to ignore that.  Clint was grinning wider now, and Kate returned the gesture, until their smiles hurt.  She was almost positive that they looked like lunatics.  She felt like a lunatic, to be honest.

“You a betting girl, Katie-Kate?” he asked, after what seemed like an eternity of tense silence.

“What could you possibly bet, Clint?” she retorted, “Gum?  Spare change?  A metrocard?”  He plucked the bowstring again.

“Your bow seems fair,” Clint said.  Kate heard light catcalls from the team-and squashed them with a quick, icy glare.

“And what if I win?” Kate replied.  “What do you have for me?”

“I’ll let you run the show.  Total silence from me.”  He shrugged.  “And I’ll let you have my dog, if you want.”  Kate bit back another comment.  To add more banter would make her seem like a coward.  In front of her own damn team.

“What’s the bet?” Kate said.

“You’ve seen Robin Hood?” he asked.  She laughed.  Not long our loudly, but enough to make it bite.

“Yeah, sure,” Kate said, “I’ve seen it.”

“I will shoot an arrow right through your arrow,” Clint said, “and I will take this lovely bow home with me.”  Kate scoffed.

“You’re an idiot,” she told him.  “A complete idiot, trying to show off for a bunch of teenagers.”

“And what does that make you, princess?” he retorted.  She sucked in a sharp breath.

“The best archer in New York state,” she said.  “Now shoot.”

 

Kate’s stunned silence said more than a quip really could.  If anything, she’d cheapen the moment, or make herself look like an asshole, or something.  There was Clint’s arrow, shot right through the middle of hers.  Like Robin Hood.  Physically impossible.

“And that is why you always bet Barton,” Clint said, turning to Kate with a lopsided grin.  He caught sight of her face, of her shaking hands, and his smile fell.

“Kate?” he asked, quietly.  “Kate?”

“Practice is over,” Kate announced, mustering as much steadiness into her voice as she could.  “Everyone go home.”  She stood rooted in place as sneakers squeaked on the floor.  Whispers could be heard in passing.  Madison quietly retrieved her phone, then scampered out of the gym.  Only when every last miserable member of the team escaped the suffocating silence did Clint dare to approach Kate.  He reached out for her, and she jerked back.

“Do you want the bow back?” Clint asked.  With kindness in his voice.

“I don’t want your pity, Clint,” she said.  “I don’t want anything to do with you.”  His face fell.  Good.  She was being a pitiful, overdramatic bitch, but she supposed that was just par for the course.

“You started it,” Clint muttered.  Something dark flashed in Kate’s eyes.

“And now I’m finishing it,” she spat.  Her legs worked for her, stomping over to her bag.  She pulled out her cellphone on instinct, though she knew she’d regret it.  “Goodnight, Clint,” Kate said, “enjoy the bow.”  She walked out of the range as quickly as she could without running, and didn’t even cry.

 

_Spotted: Queen_ **_K_ ** _brought to tears on the 1 train headed home.  Where’s your new bow,_ **_K_ ** _?  Don’t tell us you got sick of it already._

 

Maybe it was childish to sit around in her tank top and a pair of underwear, and blast old 90s girl rock until she felt like less of a failure.  So far, it was working.  She was even singing along, getting her groove on.  She’d buy a new bow.  They weren’t that expensive, and her dad would believe it got stolen.  Fuck it.  She’d buy a _better_ bow, and then she’d beat Clint over the head with it.  That was an idea she could get into.  And she was really starting to rock out with her dance moves-jumping on the bed, shaking her hair around.  She was feeling much, much better.

“Miss Bishop?” the record didn’t actually screech, because who used records, puh-lease, but she was pretty sure that her heart stopped beating.  There, in her doorway, was Clint Barton, his one eyed dog, and Katrina, Kate’s very surprised looking maid.  

“Don’t you knock?!” Kate demanded, like a teenage drama queen.  This was not her day.

“I did,” the maid said, “you didn’t answer.  I was worried.”  Kate sighed.  She’d come home in a mood, and the maids paid more attention to her than her dad usually did, so she couldn’t really place the blame on Katrina, this time.

“I’m not wearing pants,” Kate pointed out.

“I noticed,” Clint said.  Katrina glared at him before Kate could, pulling him out of the doorway.

“Sorry, Miss Bishop,” Katrina said, “he’ll be in the sitting room.”  Kate felt the need to hide, though apparently her bedroom was no longer safe, either.  Might as well face him, if he’d come out all this way to see her.  In her underwear.  Which was an accident, but still.  Could she get him arrested for that?  She’d have to look into it.

 

“You brought your dog,” Kate said.  She’d put sweatpants on, pulled her hair up.  Her makeup was long gone, and she was past the point of caring.  It was just Clint, after all.

“And your bow,” Clint said.  “Because it’s yours, and I’m an asshole.”  The dog had trotted happily over to Kate.  He was cute.  Shaggy and kind of dirty, but loving.  Kate reached down to scratch behind his ears.

“It is, and you are,” Kate said.  “If you’d admitted this three hours ago, you could’ve stayed in Brooklyn, where you belong.”  The dog barked in agreement.  Kate decided she liked the dog.  Much better than she liked Clint.

“Can we not?” Clint said.  “There’s no one here for you to impress.”  Kate flinched.

“Why are you here?” Kate demanded.  “You didn’t have to return the bow.  What changed your mind?”  Clint sighed and sunk deeper into her couch.

“You’re,” Clint started, “you’re a lot of work, girlie.  But you’re talented, and smart, and I’m thirty years old and should fucking know better.”  It sounded like he was repeating off a card, but she figured it was better than nothing.

“I guess,” Kate rolled her eyes, “I should know better, too.  Can I have my bow back now?”

“God, you’re a brat,” Clint told her, getting up off the couch.  His fingers brushed hers as she took her bow back.  She felt a jolt.  Fucking static.

“You like pizza?” Clint asked her, grinning.  He was fairly taller than her, and she hadn’t really noticed until now.

“Of course I like pizza,” Kate said, “everyone likes pizza.”

“Doesn’t seem like rich bitch food,” Clint teased.  Kate punched him in the arm.  Yes, he was her coach, but they were in her apartment, so technically she could do whatever she wanted to him.

“Then I guess this rich bitch won’t buy you apology pizza,” Kate replied.  The dog whined.

“You’ve upset Lucky,” Clint told her, “the guy loves pizza.”  Kate laughed, despite herself.  Clint smiled back at her.  She thought that maybe she should punch him again, harder this time, but resisted the urge to do so.

“I’ll go get changed,” Kate said, “don’t drink the booze in my fridge.”

“I make no promises,” Clint said.

 

It was only when she got to her bedroom and caught herself grinning in the mirror that she wondered what the fuck just happened.

 

_Spotted:_ **_A_ ** _doing some very angry thrift shopping down in the east village.  Most girls prefer Saks, but we like that_ **_A_ ** _’s going for the dangerous look._

**_T_ ** _and_ **_B_ ** _waiting for mommie dearest outside of Lensherr Incorperated._

_Queen_ **_K_ ** _and Coach Handsome getting pizza down on Bleeker Street, a one eyed dog in tow.  Wasn’t it just this morning that_ **_K_ ** _was planning Coach’s downfall?  We don’t know if this an example of keep your enemies closer, or if the two have finally found common ground.  Careful, Coach.  She’s more dangerous than she looks._

 

_The lines may not be drawn yet, but we sense a storm brewing._

_You know you love me._

_Xoxo, Gossip Girl._


End file.
